


Baggage I Lay at Your Feet

by NathalieWeasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NathalieWeasley/pseuds/NathalieWeasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit broken after the war, Harry finds freedom in submission to Ron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baggage I Lay at Your Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for hrholidays on LJ. Much love to my amazing beta marianna_merlo and the fantastic mods for putting up with me. Thank you kiss_me_cait23 for the fantastic prompt. As soon as I saw it, this story came to mind. Title adapted from “Don't got much baggage, to lay at your feet” – RENT, I’ll Cover You

The first time is an accident.

Ron has been staying at Harry’s flat since he and Hermione split the previous year, and their close proximity brings back elements of life at Hogwarts where they had been living, studying, breathing on top of one another. In contrast to the joy of weekends lazing on the sofa with cups of tea, evenings in front of the telly teaching Ron about football, and the warmth of living with someone else, the proximity leads to a fight or two. Nothing major – they have been through a war together after all – but small, petty fights about who is taking the trash out or cooking for dinner. Ron seems to win all the fights. His year living with Hermione has given him an idea of what is needed to live on one’s own, and he has brought all the necessary information with him back to Harry. Trash goes to the curb on Monday evenings. Pants thrown in with the permanent press will shrink two sizes. If you don’t pay the cable bill, the telly will shut off in the middle of a game. Harry doesn’t know how to take care of all of these details. He doesn’t like to think about the state of his apartment before Ron moved in. He knows life is better, albeit more difficult now when he is required to shower daily, put plates in the sink, and actually return letters from Hermione and Mrs Weasley. But Ron helps.

Ron tries to help, too, when Harry screams out at night, head still full of Cedric and Sirius and Dumbledore. Night after night, Harry has nightmares of the final battle where Fred and Remus and Tonks die again and again. Ron tries soothing Harry, awkwardly running a hand over Harry’s hair which is more sweaty and unkempt than usual post-nightmare. But the harsh nights continue, though they are mitigated slightly by the improved daily living. Harry wishes Ron would help more, maybe to slide into Harry’s bed at night, to hold him, protect him, help him to live again.

It happens before dinner on a Thursday. Ron has worked late at the shop and comes home to find Harry on the floor in the dark. There is a plate of food shattered next to him, clearly fallen from the counter where he was preparing it and requiring a bit too much effort to pick up.

Ron finally blows up, like he did when they were younger.

“Damn it, Harry! Clean up the fucking plate!”

Harry picks up the plate and places it in the sink, movements fluid and loose. He grabs a rag from the counter and returns to the floor, wiping away potatoes and sausage from the tile. Harry sets the rag to the side and places a hand on the floor, shifting his weight to rise. He hesitates, then kneels back down to the floor.

Ron has been watching Harry, blue eyes concentrated, filled with worry, concern, and a small bit of anger, and his eyes widen and disappear from view as Harry lowers his head.

“Harry? What are you doing, mate?”

“T-tell me what to do, Ron.” Harry whispers. He shuts his eyes, adding another layer of protection between himself and the assuredly-patronising eyes of his oldest friend.

There is a sharp intake of breath and then silence. Each second pounds at Harry’s heart, and part of him hopes that Ron will just laugh and head off to bed.

“Face up.” Ron’s voice is tentative. Harry doesn’t know what to do, how to fix this. “Now.” At the harsh tone, Harry yanks his head up.

Ron is looking at him with an odd expression. “Mate…if you really want to do what I think you want to do, what I think _you_ think you _need_ , go to my bedroom and…strip. Kneel at the foot of the bed, hands behind your back.”

Harry shivers. Could this be happening?

Ron meets his eyes. “But if you don’t want this, if I’m misinterpreting everything, just forget everything I’ve said and…go to bed. I…I don’t want to lose you.”

Ron turns and heads down the hallway of the flat. “I’ll be in the loo for fifteen minutes.”

\--

Ron lowers shaking hands to the edge of the vanity and stares at his reflection in the mirror. His white skin is paler than normal, a multitude of freckles trekking darkly across his nose and cheeks. He barely recognizes the wide, almost frightened eyes staring back at him. He has done _this_ once or twice with Hermione, but never seriously. They kept their games to the bedroom, dissolving into laughter every few minutes as Ron ordered Hermione to suck his cock or ride him. This feels different. It _is_ different. This is Harry, his mate, his…lover, maybe. As Ron imagines Harry entering his bedroom, revealing his body, kneeling for Ron, _needing_ Ron, his cock – already half-hard from the way Harry pleaded in the kitchen – twitches and fills. Ron splashes some water on his face and runs a hand through his hair. He can do this. He wants to do this. For Harry.

If Harry is even in the room.

\--

Ron keeps his room cooler than the shared living space or Harry’s bedroom, but Harry doesn’t even feel the cool wood beneath his legs or the chill of the air. He was told to kneel, and he is kneeling. The floor, the room, the physical space drifts away, and Harry is left with his naked body and Ron’s request. Fuck, his _command_.

The door opens and now Harry has Ron as well. He looks flushed, hair damp and cheeks red. As he lays his eyes on Harry, his body seems to lengthen, the strength Harry depends on filling the room. Harry lowers his head, hoping Ron will tell him what he should do, give him another command.

“Head up.” Ron’s voice fills Harry’s mind, and there is no delay before Harry raises his head.

“Face me unless I tell you otherwise,” A pause. Harry is barely breathing, watching Ron’s lips, entranced and eager. “Acknowledge any order given.”

“Yes…” Harry finally speaks. When Ron doesn’t say anything, he tries again. “Yes…sir.”

“Good boy.” Ron moves closer. Harry basks in the praise and arches his head into Ron’s palm when Ron lowers one freckled hand to stroke Harry’s hair.

“Suck my cock.”

Harry leans forward. Ron’s cock is right in front of him, thin and long to match the body it belongs to. This isn’t the first time Harry has seen Ron naked. Sleeping in the same dorm room, sharing a common loo both in the tower and after Quidditch, helping Hermione care for Ron after the splinching…the nakedness is nothing new. But this hardness for _Harry_ is new. At Hogwarts, the boys took care of their needs late at night under the covers or in the shower with their backs turned, grunts muffled while shoulders pistoned. Harry had stolen peaks over the years. Neville tended to take care of himself on Sunday nights after everyone else had gone to bed, and Harry would get up to take a leak past midnight to catch a glimpse of Neville’s pudgy hand stroking, stroking. Seamus and Dean stayed in their beds mostly, though they flashed Harry once or twice by accident as they moved covers around for better access. But Ron… Ron had been the most private. Perhaps he wanted to make this one act something he didn’t share with anyone after having grown up both in and out of Hogwarts surrounded by other people. It didn’t help that his sixth year activities involved going off to a lot of empty corridors with Lavender. Harry had no inclination to see Lavender’s bits at all.

But now Ron’s cock is _right here_ in front of Harry’s mouth. Ron is grasping it with the hand not in Harry’s hair, slowly stroking. Harry leans even more forward and presses his lips to the tip of Ron’s cock. He hasn’t done this before, what with the time constraints of the war, but he knows to press forward and sliding his mouth around Ron’s length.

“Use your tongue, Harry. Push up against my dick and then slide back and forth. That’s it, nice.”

Harry nods his head a few more time, relishing in the sounds of pleasure coming from above him. He swirls his tongue around the head of Ron’s cock and then tentatively probes at the small opening, eliciting a startled gasp. Ron grabs Harry’s hair and takes over, pistoning into Harry’s mouth. _Fucking_ Harry’s mouth.

“Touch yourself.”

Harry barely hears Ron, so focused on the sensation of Ron’s cock, pressing deeper and deeper down his throat. Harry lowers his hand to his own cock, but it is slapped away. Even as Harry lowers his hand to his side, his cock twitches.

Ron chuckles. “Interesting, but not now. Touch yourself, Harry. Your _hole_.”

Harry moves his hand behind him, pressing his finger inside himself at Ron’s command as he continues to lave over Ron’s cock.

As Ron talks him through placing another two fingers inside himself, Harry realises that for the first time since the war, he feels free.


End file.
